


Teamwork

by Dracze



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Background Joker/Bruce Wayne, Crack, Deception, Dom Diana (Wonder Woman), Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, Fluff and Humor, Matchmaking, Past Diana (Wonder Woman)/Steve Trevor, Past Harleen Quinzel/Pamela Isley - Freeform, Romantic Comedy, Sub Harleen Quinzel, mlm and wlw solidarity, valentines day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:01:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29511495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracze/pseuds/Dracze
Summary: Harley has a crush, Joker has a plan, and Diana learns once again that it pays to trust her instincts.
Relationships: Diana (Wonder Woman)/Harleen Quinzel
Comments: 22
Kudos: 43





	Teamwork

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mellie_Art](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellie_Art/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY MELLIE, you wonderful artist, writer and human being, you! You're the captain of SS Wonderquinn in my book, which only proves your superior intellect and taste in ships. Now, I know you don't like Harley being anywhere near Joker these days, even as platonic friends, but I hope you won't mind his presence in this story too much - I couldn't help myself, he's kind of part and parcel of the idea. Hope you like it, and that you have an amazing day! <333
> 
> This story doesn't take place in any particular canon, but rather, in what I like to call "the fluffverse" - a collection of headcanons that I go to when I need something relaxing. Its tone is somewhere between preboot, Silver Age, Brave and the Bold (which I totally borrowed the plot concept from) and Justice League Action, I guess. In this one, Harley and Joker were never really a couple, but he did use her as a henchwoman at first, so they still have _some_ beef to work through. 
> 
> When it comes to Wonder Woman canon, I borrowed the Etta from Rucka's Rebirth run, went with the preboot idea of Diana working openly as the ambassador for Themyscira and being able to come and go there as she pleases, and a bunch of other little bits and pieces here and there. 
> 
> Also, a little disclaimer - I only visited Washington D.C. once on a single day trip. Needless to say, I don't know it all that well. So rather than make a clumsy attempt to inaccurately present existing locales that I only learned about from Google, I made some up. That should be easier on everybody. 
> 
> Plus, I added the Dom/sub tags just in case. There's no sexual content in the fic (sadly), but those dynamics do inform my take on Wonderquinn and are hinted at here, so I thought it appropriate to add the tags. 
> 
> Now, I hope you enjoy this cracky little idea that came to me in the bath and that my brain decided would make for a fun fic. Many, MANY thanks to Ring, and to Err and Unanimous Alice for all their help with the brainstorming which helped me shape all my disjointed ideas into some sort of sequence. 
> 
> Please let me know if you liked it!

“J.-J.? Hellooo? You up there?” Harley calls out, looking up the empty staircase that can best be described as the triple D: Dark, Dusty, Disgusting.

No one answers. Not even a rustle, which is frankly rude, but then again, even rats would think twice before taking up residence _here_. Which already tells Harley plenty about the sort of mood J.’s in, if this is indeed the right place and not some hovel he led her to as a prank, which he’s done more than once. 

Harley frowns and pulls out her phone again, but the Maps app says that the address she got in the text matches the one she’s at. And Google wouldn’t betray her by leading her astray now, would it?

J., though. That’s a whole other matter. And he’s usually more discerning of his hideouts than _this_.

(On the other hand, Harley caught him one time napping in a dumpster behind a Burger King. So.)

“Hello? Yoohoo?” she calls again, skipping up the half-dilapidated steps and peeking into the abandoned apartments on the first and second floor, because well, she’s here now, ain’t she? Might as well make sure. 

She’s just about to send J. a strongly-worded text when she hears the singing.

“ _You’re just too good to be true_ ,” floats the voice, carrying down from what sounds like the top floor. “ _Can’t take my eyes off of you…_ ”

“A-ha! Thanks, Google!” Harley pats her phone with all the affection it deserves — which is plenty — and drops it back into her pocket. Then, not wasting any more time, she leaps over the remaining floors as fast as she can.

Not a prank, then. Just a low-functioning night. And Harley knows how to deal with those.

Still, she knows her manners, and doesn’t burst in all at once. She waits respectfully by the only closed door on the top floor until the singer gets to the chorus.

“ _I love you, baby, and if it’s quite alright, I need you, baby, to warm the lonely night…_ ” belts the singer in that strange voice of his, somewhere between scratchy and lilting, carrying loudly now through the entire building all the way down to the bottom floor. Good thing this place’s been marked for demolition already, or they might be having a problem. 

As it is, Harley observes the crime clown etiquette and waits till the end, and only bursts in to join in for the last, triumphant, doubly loud _Let me love you_. 

Too bad J. doesn’t seem to be in a mood to appreciate the gesture.

“Oh. Hi, Harley,” he says, not even lifting his head to greet her, too busy painting his nails on the half-collapsed couch. 

Which is appropriate. _He_ looks half-collapsed, too, and Harley has to bite down on a wince at the sight of him. He’s in a purple tank top and Batman print pajama pants, like the silly little love-sick nerd he is, his makeup all smudged and gross after a long day, his hair a curly mess of the ‘didn’t-care-to-style-it’ type rather than the usual, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, his bones far too pronounced as he hunches here in the stinking shadows like a wounded rat. 

_Definitely_ a low-functioning night. Geez.

“Hi yourself!” Harley stomps into the bare room with extra energy to make up for J.’s very literal slump, refusing to let it get to her. “So, this is what we in the business call a dump. Couldn’t you have holed up somewhere nicer? I hear they opened up the Ritz again after the last time we trashed it.”

“You’re late,” J. grumbles, still ignoring her.

Harley scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Is it my fault you chose a place even Uncle Google couldn't find?”

“You should’ve picked me up at the station.”

“You never asked me to.”

“You were _supposed_ to — oh, forget it. Help a guy out?” _Now_ he smiles up at her, the selfish fuck, lifting the nail polish bottle hopefully.

“Oh, fine. Move that pasty ass,” Harley commands, taking up a spot on the dirty couch. “Here, give me that.”

She grabs the nail polish bottles and the brushes from him, and forces him to sit sideways to face her.

“The usual thing?”

“Sure. Why not? It’s not like Batsy’ll notice if I try something different.”

Harley rolls her eyes. So not _just_ a low-functioning night, then; she’s getting a helping of his gay angst as well. Because she hasn’t had enough of that in her own life lately.

She stifles a sigh and gets to work.

“How’s he supposed to notice if you always wear the gloves, anyway?” she asks, very logically in her opinion. 

“That’s not the _point_ , Harley!”

“So what _is_ the point?”

“I’m not in the mood for logic,” J. announces tetchily. “I’m distraught and tired and bored and I miss Batsy. I figure we should hit the town tonight.”

“Did you eat anything today?” 

He makes a face, shrugs, and looks away. Harley bites the inside of her cheek to stop herself chiding him, and offering up to go get them burgers. If Joker doesn’t remember to eat or drink or take his meds, that’s his problem and she’s not responsible for it, she reminds herself firmly. She’s been teaching herself to stop mothering him and let him take care of himself, lousy though he is at it, and she’s gonna stick to it, _dammit_. 

“Nevermind,” she manages. “How was Metropolis?”

“Boring.” J. gives a deep, lamentable sigh, blowing smoke in her face. Harley scrunches her face up, grabs the cigarette from him, and puts it out on the floor.

J. doesn’t appear to mind, or even notice. “Which is just like Lex, really,” he continues, his free hand flying now. “‘This is the opportunity of a lifetime, Joker, you can’t miss this, Joker’... I mean, who does Baldy think he is? The president? Ha! Not anymore he ain’t, and whose fault is that?”

“What did he want?”

“To team up again. What else? He hatched some new hare-brained plan to switch up our opponents. To bamboozle them, he says. ‘They know our fighting styles and methods through and through,’” J. says, in a pretty spot-on impression of Luthor’s obnoxious I’m-Better-Than-You voice.

This has Harley’s ears perking up, and she very nearly smears the purple polish over J.’s finger as she looks up at him. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah. Can you imagine? He wanted me to fight Wonder Woman! Of all people! I mean, _girl_.”

“That’s pretty wacko,” Harley agrees as the gears in her head start to turn furiously, and her heart starts going thumpy-thump in fresh excitement.

“Right? So I say to him, ‘Lexie, baby, time to hit the ice buckets ‘cause your noggin’s obviously getting heatstroke.’ The face he made! I do love winding him up, Harls, he makes the best noises when he gets indignant.”

“He sure does.” Harley gives herself time to finish painting his left hand for a moment as her heart flutters furiously, before she asks, “So, just to be clear, you said no?”

“Damn right I said no!” J. declares, snatching his freshly-painted hand and waving it around. “I mean, do I _look_ like a switch?” 

He laughs at his own joke. Harley’s used to it and waits it out patiently, grabbing his right hand to start on it in the meantime. 

“Can you even imagine?” Joker continues. “Me! Against Wondy! While Cheetah gets free reign against Supes, and Baldy himself tries to fight _my_ Batsy. As if! He’s just tired of losing to Superhunk all the time so he thought he could usurp me as Batsy’s Numero Uno. Well, not on my watch!”

“Right.” Harley bites her bottom lip so her face doesn’t give too much away.

Not that she needed to bother. J. hardly notices her — big surprise there — too caught up in his own rant. 

“Now, if he suggested I fight Supiekins, I might have considered it,” he prattles on. “I’ll never turn down a chance to see those rippling muscles up close. Maybe he’d carry me in his super-arms again — that’s always a fun time. But Wondy? Ew, no. Come on. I mean, I went up against her a time or two, sure, but one, she doesn’t get my jokes, two, she’s entirely too serious in a non-fun kind of way, and three, she’s a woman. It’s even right there in her name! There’s _nothing_ in it for me, now, is there? Nope. Nada. And I’m not gonna step aside just so some two-bit crook with an inflated ego can try to steal Batsy from me.”

“Too true.” Harley takes a deep breath, and then decides, _fuck it_. She’ll regret it forever if she doesn’t try, and if there’s anything good Joker taught her, it’s that there’s no reason she should ever regret _anything_.

She keeps her eyes down as she says, “But what if there was something in it for _me_?”

“Not to mention the plan’s utterly dumb to begin with, and would never — huh?”

“I just mean.” Harley tugs on her pigtails to stifle the urge to back down. “You know. I’ve _always_ wanted to meet her.”

“Oh.” J. appears to give it some thought as he goes still, staring right at her now as though this is the first time he noticed she’s even in the room. Which is probably the case. “So? What, did you want to go instead? No offense, Harls, but I don’t think Lexie’s gonna let you.”

“As if I’d bother asking his permission.” Harley scoffs, and J. giggles in approval. That bolsters her a little, and she chooses to ride the feeling enough that she tries, “But I could go with you? Like a good old-fashioned team-up? You could tell Lexie it’s to double your chances of success, or you wouldn’t even have to tell him anything. I’d just tag along, and then I could even take over the fight. You know I’ve been _dying_ to have Wondy beat _me_ up. And they said on the news that her little bitch of a boytoy broke up with her, so this is _the_ perfect moment for me to swoop in.”

“Hmm.” J. makes thinky noises as he sits still, for once, and lets her finish his right hand in peace. “Why can’t you just go to Wondy on your own?”

“I thought about it,” Harley confesses. “But it’s better with a motive, you know? A gal like that, I bet she’s gotta beat off villain hopefuls with a stick. I don’t just wanna come up to her and attack her out of the blue like some desperate C-lister. She’d never treat me seriously.” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” J. hums. “The randomly attacking thing seems to be working out pretty well for Miss Angry Furry Lady. Those two _definitely_ have a thing.”

“But see,” Harley says, warming up to it now that J. appears to be listening to her for once, “that’s the thing! I don’t want the nemesis relationship either! The shared psychoerotic codependent obsession is all well and good for you and Batsy —”

“Why, thank you.”

“But Wondy’s not like that. She’s _not_ Batsy. She can be savage, sure, but she doesn’t get off on the violence, ya know?”

“All the more reason why I shouldn’t be the one to go fight her. I mean, _really_. What was Lexie thinking?”

“J.! I’m kinda doing a thing here? I know it’s hard to pay attention when something isn't about you, but I really need you to focus.”

That gets his attention, and he cocks his head at her.

“It’s one of those friendship whatsists, isn’t it,” he guesses. “The thing you told me about? When I should let _you_ vent once in a while, too?”

“Right! Yes. It’s one of those.”

“Hmm.” Joker considers her then, in that unsettling, piercing, quizzical way he has that messed her up so much back when she was Dr. Harleen Quinzel, hoping to make a name for herself and getting drawn in by a pair of green eyes and a sharp tongue that seemed to cut her open and laugh at what it found inside.

It’s difficult to hold that gaze even now, after so many years of tentative friendship, with all the ugliness put behind them. Harley still has to fight the urge to look away as a defense mechanism, just so he doesn’t see right through her. 

In the end, though, he does anyway.

“This really means a lot to you, huh,” he asks as she snatches his left hand to apply the second coating.

“Yeah.” Harley sighs. “Guess so. Especially with Valentines Day coming up, and all. I don’t much fancy being alone for that.”

“Well, what about Pam-Pam?”

“We’re on the outs,” Harley complains, not bothering to hide the bitterness from her voice now that the cat’s out of the bag.

“What, again?”

“I know!” Harley sits up, once again nearly smearing the polish. “It’s ridiculous! I’ve proven myself to her how many times now? And she’s _still_ like, ‘You’ll never understand me,’ and ‘I belong with my babies,’ and ‘You’re distracting me from the cause,’ and then she fucks off to the Amazonian rainforest or someplace and expects me to just sit around on my patootie waiting for her. Getting real sick of it, to tell you the truth. So I’ve been thinking, well, she’s always telling me I get too attached to people —”

“You do.”

“Fuck off. Anyway, well, maybe it’s time to expand my dating pool. Try some different flavors for a change.”

“Got tired of the Vegan diet, switching to Greek?”

“Ha!” Harley grins. “Yeah, you could say so.”

“You wanna stop munching on green bush,” J. continues over a wicked grin, “and try a lick of olive?”

“Oh my god.”

“Ditching the salad in favor of some brown, juicy, wholesome —”

“I’ll cut you, J.-J., don’t think I won’t.” 

J. laughs at that, looking mighty pleased with himself, and then Harley does, too. It’s kind of hard not to. They’ve made plenty of progress, and Joker actually seems to be making the effort to follow Harley’s friendship guidelines at least some of the time, but it’s not every day the selfish jackass bothers to actually listen to her when she needs to vent, let alone offer some feedback. 

So it feels all the better when he does.

“So, will you help?” Harley insists.

“But wouldn’t that defeat the purpose?” J. wonders, pulling his hand away and waving it as she gets started on the other hand again. “You’d still be setting yourself up to fight her if you went with me. And you’d be getting your rep tarnished by association.”

Harley expels a gust of air. “Yeah, maybe. But I’d have a _motive_. A reason to make contact. I can work with that, ya know? I could saunter in all casual and aloof and stuff, and be like, ‘Oh, Wondy? Didn’t see you there.’ And then I’d do something so impressive it’d blow her wondersocks off.”

“Ambitious!” J. grins at her in amusement. “But what if she hauls you back to jail? After you got paroled again, too. You really wanna sabotage your freedom for the slim chance of a hookup?”

Harley snorts so hard she nearly chokes on it. 

“Really,” she manages. “ _You_ gonna lecture me on the dangers of breaking parole just to get some? Mr. I Escaped From Arkham Again to Get Batsy to Notice Me?”

J. grins at her, one of his blinding, half-terrifying, half-charming full-blown grins. 

“I never said it was a _bad_ idea,” he says. “Just that you seem to be enjoying yourself stretching the rules within acceptable limits, is all. Hanging around _me_ gets you a surefire one way ticket back to Arkham, and you give the impression that you’d rather avoid that.”

“You got any better ideas, then, smartass?”

“I might, actually. I might be able to do you one better.”

Harley rolls her eyes again. “Okay, fine. Let’s hear it.”

So he tells her. And Harley’s heart starts beating harder and faster as he does, and her face heats up with hope, and by the time he’s done, she very nearly throws her arms around his neck.

“Really?” she gasps. “You’re not having me on? You’d actually do that for me?”

“I’d do anything for love,” J. professes grandly. “Especially for my awesome little girl buddy.”

Harley squeals, wriggling on the couch. “Holy cannoli, J-ster, this could actually work!”

“Well of course it could! It’s my plan! But you’d owe me one,” J. warns her. “I haven’t fought Batsy in a hot minute, and now you’re roping me into a scheme that’ll take me away from Gotham again. And for Valentines Day, no less! Batsy’s gonna think I’ve abandoned him! I hope you appreciate the sacrifice I’m making just to help you pull some Amazonian coochie.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll have plenty of time to whine at me about it later. And if we pull this off, I promise I’ll listen to all your Batsy rants without complaint.” Harley jumps to her feet, already itching to get going. “So what are you still sitting around here for? Call Lexie, _now_ , and tell him you’ve changed your mind! Before he realizes how stupid that plan is and changes his!”

“Alright, alright, calm your tits.” J. runs a hand through his messy hair. “Sheesh. You’d think there’s a fire, the way you’re bouncing around.”

“There _is_ a fire,” Harley tells him. “In my ladyparts. And it needs dousing. Now get. Calling.”

“And where are _you_ going, my horny little Harlie-kins?”

“To pack!” Harley throws over her shoulder, already halfway out the door. “You better pack too, J.-J. If we leave tonight, we can make it to D.C. just in time for Valentines!”

“Well then go, girl, go! We’re gonna lasso you an Amazon!” J. calls after her, cackling. “Steal some nondescript car on your way, would ya? Mine’s a little recognizable.”

But Harley can barely hear that last part; she’s already skipping and somersaulting down the stairs, whole flights at a time.

***

It’s quiet in D.C. tonight. Diana flies around the outskirts for a while, making sure she isn’t needed anywhere, but it seems that this year, at least, no one’s in the mood to be making trouble the night before Valentines Day. Just a handful of petty robberies, a couple dine-and-dashes, some minor cases of vandalism and public indecency — nothing the local police couldn’t handle, and nothing that would require Wonder Woman’s attention. 

More’s the pity, Diana thinks, and immediately chides herself for it. But the fact is, she could definitely use the distraction. 

But there’s nothing below she could use as one, and so, eventually, she gives up the search and lets herself head back for a few leisurely laps around the Mall. The air is cool and crisp with that lingering bite of mid-February snow, Capitol Hill glows like a beacon of late night activity, and the Mall below glitters with tiny lights, sending up the occasional twinkle of laughter from the couples bundled up in their winter coats, strolling up and down the park hand in hand. 

The way she and Steve used to do, more times than she can count.

Diana knows she shouldn’t, that she should be above this sort of self-indulgence, but she still takes a moment to perch on top of the Washington Monument to gaze down. At any other time, the scene below — all those happy couples, already celebrating their love in a thousand small, intimate, quiet ways or getting ready for tomorrow — would soothe and ease her, give her perspective, and revitalize her for the mission all over again. 

Tonight, more than anything, she feels cold. 

And sad, in a deep, aching way she hasn’t felt in a long time — the sadness of leaving Themyscira, of Barbara’s transformation, of the last time she failed someone who relied on her for safety and comfort. The heavy kind of sadness. The kind that weighs her down like something physical, making it a wonder that she’s able to fly at all.

But it’s selfish to dwell on that now. She _can_ fly. And those people below, in all their comfort and happiness, rely on her to.

As penance for her selfishness, Diana takes another few moments to observe the crowds with all the ache they inspire. And then she kicks off of the Monument and launches herself towards the bright lights of the Capitol. She circles the dome a few times, and then heads up, up, up, the wind nipping her face and tangling her hair, the stars up above like thousands of lighthouses waiting to guide her, the speed and the biting chill going some ways to helping her shed the ache of loss.

Maybe she’ll just make it an early night. It’s been ages since she’s allowed herself any of those, and as she turns back and flies low to the ground, Diana tries to muster up some enthusiasm at the thought of a long soak in a hot tub and maybe some reading after that.

But not the stack of romance books Etta got her. Those have haunted Diana’s nightstand for weeks now, but she hasn’t been able to make herself touch them. She’s not ready yet. 

But she hopes she will be, soon.

When she hovers by her office at the Themysciran embassy, the window is open. That surprises Diana, but she thinks little of it as she uses the opportunity to fly right in. It’s entirely possible that Etta or Ferdinand left it open to air out the room. 

Diana touches down on the floor, shakes out her tangled hair, and drops the winter cloak over her chair.

That’s when the light in the office suddenly comes on.

“Nice place you got here, beautiful,” says Harley Quinn, sitting on her haunches in the visitor’s chair, her hand on the desk lamp switch. Then she trembles, and lets out an excited squeak as she spins in the chair. “Damn, I’ve always wanted to do that!”

It’s a testament to her upbringing and years and years of training that Diana manages not to react at once, despite all her warrior instincts telling her to neutralize the threat immediately. 

This, she suspects, might require… caution. 

She’s heard of Harley Quinn, of course, and she’s gone up against her in the past. But this is the first time she finds herself face to face with her in such close quarters, with no other heroes or villains nearby. She vaguely remembers hearing in the news that Harley’s on parole, and sure enough, she looks unassuming and harmless enough as she sits there in Diana’s office, dressed in a faux fur jacket that she sprayed red and black, tall winter boots that reach up to her knees, red-and-black leggings, with a fluffy scarf around her neck.

But it’s not the clothes that attract Diana’s attention — it’s Harley’s face. 

Up close, she looks… unreal. Like a cartoon come to life. And not just because of the outfit or her colorful hair, or even her stylishly mismatched makeup. It’s her frenetic energy, sparkling all over the office even when all she does is spin in the chair; there’s something almost magnetic about the animated way she handles herself, from the muscles of her face down to her feet, like any moment now she’ll pull out an anvil out of her tiny purse or have a piano drop on her out of nowhere. 

She’s also — it has to be said — very, very pretty. In a soft, girlish way that speaks to something in Diana’s heart instantly, stirring awake a protective instinct that’s familiar in many ways and entirely strange in others.

Not that it matters. For all Diana knows, above all things, parole or not, Harley Quinn is still a threat. So she guards her heart — picking up speed now, beating fast under her breastplate — against that strange new instinct taking hold, and watches her for a moment, her hand hovering over the Perfect. 

She keeps her voice calm as she asks, “Harley Quinn, is it?”

“Oh my god, Wonder Woman knows who I am. This is literally the best day of my life.” Harley jumps to her feet, light and easy and smooth as though _she_ can fly, too, and lunges to grab Diana’s hand in hers before Diana can step away. “Yes, I’m Harley! Harley Quinn! The one and only! And I’m _so_ excited to meet you properly, Wondy, you don’t even _know_. Holy Robin short shorts, you’re gorgeous.”

“I’m… charmed.” Diana doesn’t quite smile, although even with all the breaking and entering, it’s a bit difficult not to in the face of Harley’s earnest enthusiasm. Which, in and of itself, is surprising — the last urge Diana expected herself to have when meeting any villain is to _smile_.

The thought is sobering, and helps Diana pull her hand away gently but firmly. 

“So,” she says. “What, um... What brings you here?”

“Oh!” Harley jumps away, as though suddenly remembering that there was a reason for her visit in the first place. “Right! Sorry, you’re just so… Wow. So much taller than you seem on TV. And _far_ more impressive. Like… damn. Just… damn.”

She trails off, staring into Diana’s eyes with a glazed, dreamy expression that unsettles Diana about as much as it flatters that soft, warm, stirring place inside her. Diana does her best to ignore it and gives Harley a moment, but it looks like the doctor’s lost to her again.

Diana clears her throat. “You were saying?”

“Yes! Yes, I was, wasn’t I?” Harley knocks a knuckle on her own forehead, laughing in giddy embarrassment. 

And then, suddenly, from one blink to the next, she turns serious. 

“Wondy,” she says, “I need your help.”

***

Wonder Woman is looking at her. Wonder Woman is right _here_ , within touching distance, tall and muscly with those blue pants that look painted right on those drool-worthy thighs and calves that go on for _days_ , in that boobalicious breastplate with a cleavage you just wanna press your face into, and she’s all wind-swept and supermodel pretty and _perfect_ , and she’s looking. 

At. 

_Her_.

How J. ever expected Harley to keep her cool in those impossible conditions, Harley has no idea. 

Still, he probably hears the same angelic church bell music when he sees Batsy, which doesn’t seem to stop him shittalking for all he’s worth (more’s the pity). So Harley will pull herself together, too. She has to.

But boy. Boy. She’s already tinglier than a teenager with a fake ID at a strip club, and it’s only getting worse. 

This is _impossible_.

“Alright,” Wondy decides after a moment of watching Harley with those deep, soulful eyes that, even guarded as they are, radiate comfort and sincerity and goodness. “Sit down. Please.”

She steps up to the door, which she opens a fraction, giving Harley an exquisite view of her gorgeous cascading hair and broad muscled back and an absolute _spectacle_ of an ass. Harley’s so busy drooling over it that she almost misses it when Wondy calls out, “Ferdinand?”

Now _that_ sure pops Harley’s ass-themed daydream bubble. She sits up and bites hard on her bottom lip so she doesn’t blurt out anything unseemly, but like, seriously. Who the fuck is Ferdinand? Has Wondy found someone else already? Harley thought they could do this without bloodshed, since Mr. Little Bitch Blondie kindly took himself out of the picture (like a total schmuck, in Harley’s professional opinion). But if Harley now has to fight _another_ guy for Wondy’s affections —

“Diana? Back already?” comes a deep, definitely male and _very_ rumbly voice. It’s so male and deep and rumbly, in fact, that it echoes through the entire house in a strange reverberation effect, chilling Harley’s blood as she sits up further in the chair. 

She’s ready to throw hands, mallets, or bombs if need be. But if her potential competition looks half as good as he sounds, it might get just a _little_ bit tricky. And ugly. The _brains all over the walls_ kind of ugly.

The door opens. Harley holds her breath.

And loses all of it in a rush when an actual, proper, honest-to-god bull’s head pokes its way in.

“This is my friend Ferdinand,” Wondy explains, letting him further in, and holy macaroni, Harley wants to _squeal_ because, one: _friend_!

And two — 

“A minotaur!” she cries out, jumping on top of the chair, which in retrospect was probably quite rude of her but holy batboobies, how could she not? You can’t expect people to remember to mind their manners when an actual minotaur comes in through the door, looking _exactly_ like the kind Harley remembers from her mythology textbook back in high school — 

Well. Except for the fact that the textbook version didn’t wear any shirts or vests or tailored pants. 

Which only makes _this_ particular minotaur man all the awesomer. 

“Wow, you’re handsome!” Harley exclaims giddily. “And that outfit looks gorgeous on you, mister Minotaur man, it really brings out your fur.”

“Um… thank you?” rumbles Ferdinand in a bone-melting bass, and shit, Harley wishes J. were here ‘cause he would _plotz_. Harley wonders if she could talk Ferdinand into a selfie before she leaves, just to rub it in Joker’s face.

Plus, the _friend_ thing really makes Harley’s instant love for the guy so much easier. Not that _she_ wouldn’t leap at the chance to get it going with such a fine specimen, but Harley appreciates that Wondy apparently hasn’t felt similar urges. And if she has?

That’d only prove the woman has the looks, the brawn, the brains, _and_ good taste. 

“As you see, Ferdinand, we have a guest.” Wondy gestures to Harley. “This is Harley Quinn.”

Promptly, Harley collapses back into the chair, biting her lip again. Her name on Wondy’s lips does that to her.

“Oh?” Ferdinand the handsome snazzily-dressed honey-voiced minotaur turns his massive head to examine Harley. “I’m sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t hear anyone come in.”

“I got in through the window,” Harley explains helpfully. 

“But… it’s reinforced. How —”

“I’m besties with Catwoman.” 

“That does explain it,” Wondy says, and her voice is deep too, deep and warm and even kind of amused now, and it instantly drives Harley to distraction. “Would you mind bringing us something to drink?” she asks of Ferdinand. “What would you like, Harley?”

“Do you have hot chocolate?” Harley asks instantly, before she says what she actually wants to say, which is, _You_. 

Wondy smiles, and for a moment, that’s all Harley can see. And, in fact, she’s so caught up in that smile that she completely misses the next few seconds. But Wondy must have told Ferdinand to go, because next thing she knows, they’re alone in the office once more, and Wondy’s taking the seat across from her. 

“You said you needed help?”

“What?” Harley mumbles, staring.

“Harley.” Wondy’s full, luscious, kissable lips twitch now, just a tiny little jerk in the upwards direction, as though she’s trying to look all serious and broody but not quite managing that, and holy hyena hugs that’s just _adorable_ , and Harley wants to leap over the table and — 

“Harley, please,” Wondy repeats, louder this time. “Try to focus. There must be a reason you came here all the way from Gotham. Or is it New York? Isn’t that where you live now?”

“You —” Harley gulps. Oh, this really is too much. “You know where I live?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Now Wondy does smile, just a little. “You’ve made quite a name for yourself in our community. I make it a point to keep up to date on the news related to all the major villains. That includes former villains, too.” 

_Major villains._

_Major._

Oh god, Harley feels like she’s about to faint. 

“You —” she tries again, swallows, and presses on. “Sorry! I mean. Most people wouldn’t exactly call me a _major_ villain. Or even a villain. Mostly they see me as, well… a sidekick, I guess. If anything.”

And boy, it smarts, getting it out there. Like trying to speak over a fishbone stuck at the back of your throat.

But then Wondy’s smile grows, and it looks so warm that all Harley can think is, _Worth it._

“And you find that difficult?” Wondy asks, all slow and careful-like. “Still living in Joker’s shadow, even though you broke away?”

“Oh, you know.” Harley’s face is so hot now she’s sure the blush is melting off her facepaint, and she wiggles a bit, which, considering the throbby situation in her panties, might not be the best idea. She clears her throat. “It is what it is,” she manages. “And actually.” She coughs again, and tries to focus back on the Plan, which helps a bit. “Actually,” she starts again, “The thing I need help with? It’s got to do with Mr. J.”

“The Joker?”

“Um. Yeah.”

And wow, the transformation on Wondy’s face is immediate. As if one of the ice villains swooped in out of nowhere and blasted it with frost. The smile’s wiped clean, and so’s the warmth, and her eyes go all steely-like, making her look not so much friendly now but... scary.

And hot. Utterly, heart-meltingly, _unbearably_ hot. 

Harley wiggles on the chair some more.

“Speak,” Wondy says in a cold, commanding voice that only makes the throbbing in Harley’s nether regions worse. 

Whoa. She files that reaction away for the future, and wonders if she should tell J. that the mere mention of him puts Wondy in berserker mode.

(Then again, maybe not. His ego’s big enough as it is.)

“Well, you see, Wondy.” Harley loosens the scarf around her neck a little. “When I said that some people still see me as Mr. J.’s sidekick? That goes for Mr. J., too.”

That works. If anything, Wondy looks even more pissed off now. 

Bingo.

“Has he been pressuring you?” Wondy asks. “Is that why you’re here?”

“Yes!” Harley nearly claps, but stops herself just in time. It’d look weird. So she assumes her very best kicked puppy look — she’s really, really good at that one — and nods. “Yes, exactly. He got _mad_ when I got released. And like, I’m not about that life anymore. Honest! I’m my own woman now, and I’m done being his sidekick. And I kept telling him so! But you know how men are, Wondy. They just don’t take no for an answer, do they? So he… he kidnapped my babies.”

“Your… babies?”

“Bud and Lou! My hyenas!”

“Oh.” Wondy sits back, watching Harley carefully. “Okay. Go on.”

“He went and kidnapped them, the bastard! And he said he’d kill them if I don’t go along with his plan!”

“So,” Wondy cuts in, “you want my help getting them back?”

“Nah.” Harley waves a hand. “I’ve already done taken care of _that_. They’re all safe and snug in a brand new pen in a super secret place, without a care in the world.”

“In that case, what _can_ I do for you?”

“It’s his plan, Wondy.” Harley cranks up the heat on the kicked puppy look, adding some fearfulness into the mix to make it truly irresistible. She even starts fidgeting with the fuzz on her jacket. “It’s awful, what he wants to do. And it’s got to do with _you_. So after I escaped and got my babies to safety, I came here fast as I could to warn you before he — ”

“What’s his plan, Harley?” Wondy asks in that same, cold, steely commanding voice that makes Harley’s knees go wobbly. “Tell me.”

Harley wants to whoop in triumph. Hook, line and sinker, baby!

“I don’t know the details, mind you,” she starts. “But I know he wants to carry it out here, and it’s got to do with Valentines Day. He said something about —”

“Diana?” comes Ferdinand’s distinct bass from somewhere else in the building. “Would you come down? There’s something here I think you should see.”

“Can it wait?” Wondy calls back, her eyes never leaving Harley’s.

“It… it looks urgent.”

Wondy takes a moment to consider, and then gets up. “Coming,” she says, and then turns to Harley. “And you’re coming with me.”

 _Not yet I’m not_ , Harley thinks, gladly following her out the office and down some stairs into what looks like an open plan kitchen. _But with any luck, that will soon change!_

She tingles all over at the thought, especially with Wondy’s wonderbutt so close that her fingers throb with the need to touch. But once again she does her best to rein it all in. 

_Easy does it, Harls,_ she tells herself. _Stick to the plan. Do your part._

Especially since it looks like, for once, J. is doing his.

“This came in just now,” Ferdinand explains, pointing to a colorful, green-and-purple package decorated in clashing red and pink hearts. “Whoever left it on the doorstep ran the bell and then made themselves scarce. But it looks —”

“Yes,” Wondy nods, giving Harley a meaningful glance. “It does. Harley? Do you know anything about this?”

“This looks like Mr. J.’s handiwork, all right,” Harley confirms. 

“Do you know what might be inside?”

“No.” Harley does her best sad pouty face at the both of them. “I ran away before he could give me the details. But like I said, he wants to ruin Valentines Day, and from the way he talked about it, it seemed… bad.”

“Why come here, though?” Wondy, well... wonders. “Why leave Gotham? That’s not the Joker’s usual M. O.”

“I know!” Harley nods fervently. “It’s sus as hell. But I think it’s his convoluted way of making Batsy jealous.”

They stare at her, Wondy and Ferdinand both, their eyes bearing identical looks of confusion.

Harley sighs. “Seriously? You _really_ haven’t noticed anything?”

“Noticed what?” Ferdinand asks. 

“About Mr. J. and Batsy! And that toxic, co-dependent homoerotic obsession between them, with violence sublimating dark sexual desire?”

The confusion in Ferdinand’s black eyes deepens. Wondy does a wonderfrown. 

“And they say I’m the dumb one,” Harley mutters under her breath. “Look, it makes perfect sense, all right? The point is, Mr. J. is gay as the Fab Five’s spank bank for Batsy, and he’ll do anything to get his attention. Even travel miles out of town to engage a different hero on Valentine’s Day, pretending he’s moving on, so Batsy can see it and be jealous and come get him personally. Just trust me on that. I have a PHD.”

“Okay.” Wondy’s wonderfrown gets frownier. “Let’s say I go along with it. What do you think is in the package, Harley? And where is Joker now?”

“I don’t know! All I know is that he wants to strike tomorrow, and that he’s somewhere in D.C.”

Wondy looks at her suspiciously. Harley puts her hands up.

“Honest!” she swears. “I can do a pinky swear if you wanna! Or better yet,” she lets her glance go down to the golden rope at Wondy’s hip. “You could put that Lasso of Kink to good use. See if I’m telling the truth.”

Wondy’s lips twitch again in that same suppressed-smile kinda way. But then she looks serious again, and studies Harley closely, which really is rather awkward because Harley’s already been getting hot under the collar just thinking of the lasso, and she’s pretty sure her blush is showing like whoa under the facepaint.

Man, she’s wanted to know what this feels like for _ages_.

Then, something strange happens: Wondy’s eyes clear, as though she’s realized something. Something like a smirk crosses her lips, just for half-a-blink. 

And then, in another blink, she goes for the lasso, thrusts forward, and wraps it tight all over Harley’s body.

It glows. Harley has about a second to notice that, before —

Oh. _Oh_ , damn. 

“What’s in the package, Harley?” Wondy asks, calmly, and her voice is both distant and right in Harley’s head, bypassing her ears entirely. 

Harley’s knees buckle. She feels so weak she can barely stand, and no longer sees any reason why she should. So she lets herself fall to the floor, and gives in to the wonderfully floaty feeling of bliss that pulls her in and under, burning so, so warm under the lasso’s calming, pulsing coils, sending heatwaves to ripple through her entire body and mind and soul. She feels flayed open, laid bare and utterly controlled by a benevolent, loving hand, and she wants nothing more than to let that hand root through her heart and straight to her core.

“I don’t know,” Harley vaguely hears herself saying. Well, of course she does. It’s the truth, after all, and Harley sees no reason why she shouldn’t tell the truth.

“Where is the Joker?”

“In D.C.”

“Where exactly?”

“I don’t know,” Harley confesses easily. Eagerly. Anything for this voice. Anything to please it, anything to hear it warm with praise, anything to make it proud.

The coils around her tighten, and Harley wants to moan with pleasure. She thinks she does. It feels so good to be bound like this, to lose herself in the pressure around her, to have give herself up, with the warmth closing in on her in a tender, loving way, promising safety and peace and that all will be well if she only lets them in.

And she wants to.

Desperately. 

“What’s Joker’s plan?” the voice asks, so deep and comforting, and Harley shivers. 

“To ruin Valentines Day,” she says. 

“How?”

“By attacking the city.”

“Attacking what? Where?”

“I don’t know,” Harley says, honestly. Something inside her, at the far back of her mind, feels glad, for some reason. Relieved. Like it got away with something.

Ah. That part. She remembers now. She has to be careful.

“Harley,” the voice asks, and she snaps her head up towards it immediately. “Tell me. Are you part of his attack?”

_Now remember, Harls, when she uses the lasso on you? You need to be careful what you tell her. Selective truths. You got me?_

Harley tries to focus, which is difficult through the fog of pleasure. But this is important. 

“I’m not part of his attack,” she says, and then adds truthfully, “He didn’t tell me what he’d do.”

“Because he didn’t trust you?”

_I don’t trust you not to blab everything to her, so I’m gonna keep you in the dark. Capeesh?_

“That’s right,” Harley says. “Because he doesn’t trust me.”

The lasso urges her to say more, to tell the _whole_ truth and the reason J. doesn’t trust her, but she tries to fight against it. Selective truths, J.’d said. And if she tells the truth, Wondy will never trust her again.

… oh god, was the plan a mistake?

But Harley doesn’t get the chance to dwell on it. 

“Harley.” The voice is so close now, so soft and gentle, and suddenly, a warm hand touches under her chin, urging it to lift.

Harley blinks, and opens her eyes. She didn’t even realize she closed them. But she must have, because her vision is a bit blurred now, struggling to focus, and she feels dizzy and drunk, but maybe that’s fine because Wondy’s face is above her, almost inches away.

Her eyes are deep and darker than they were before. There’s a faint flush to her brown cheeks. And she’s looking down on Harley with something strange in her eyes that makes the dizziness both worse and so, so sweet.

Harley lets her search her face, looking for whatever it is she wants to find. Here and now, she’d let Wondy do anything. She opens her mouth to say so —

Wondy steps away, and the coils of warmth around Harley begin to slowly fall away.

“Easy now,” that warm voice says as Harley sways and stumbles. A pair of strong, muscular arms catch her, and Harley gives in to it gladly, shivering, especially when one of the hands finds her way to her hair to stroke a strand of it away from her face. “Easy. Come on, let’s get you to a chair.” A beat of hesitation, and then, “You did well.”

Harley beams. It probably looks dopey as hell, but she’s too far gone for self-consciousness, and she never found much use for it anyway. She’s happy to let Wondy womanhandle her to a chair, and slumps in it, giving herself time to come down from the high slowly, little by little, clinging to it for as long as she can.

And in the meantime, she observes Wondy and Ferdinand as they come to once again stand around Mr. J.’s little box.

Wondy tells Ferdinand to stay behind her. She opens the box. They both flinch as it explodes in a shower of glitter and confetti.

Harley laughs.

“There’s a note,” Wondy says, ignoring her. She picks up a garish red heart-shaped card and reads out, “ _Roses are red. And so is blood. And that’s what you’ll get if you don’t watch out. Happy Valentines Day, the Joker_.”

“Well that’s… cryptic,” Ferdinand judges. “Is that all?”

“There’s a heart at the back,” Wondy says, turning the card around in her strong, beautiful hands. “With… quotes?”

“A riddle?” Ferdinand wonders. 

“Not a riddle,” Harley pipes in helpfully. “A joke.”

“Not a very good one,” Wondy says frostily. 

There’s a buzz. Wondy takes a phone out of her bodice — oh, to be that phone! — and frowns at the screen. 

“It’s Etta,” Wondy says. “Telling us to turn on the news.”

So they do. And Harley gasps along when they see J.’s face beaming at them from the screen.

“Good evening, Washington D.C.! It’s your good pal, the Joker!” he calls out, glittering all over in his new hand-made sequinned suit. “Now, I hate to interrupt your regular corporate brainwashing, but I have a _very_ special message to share with all of you. Why, it’s likely to blow you away!”

“How did he…?” Wondy mutters under her breath, looking pissed.

And — it absolutely bears repeating — really fucking hot.

“You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here, hijacking a local news station?” J. carries on, fully in his element as he performs and sparkles in front of the camera. “It’s simple, ladies and gents and all you other lovely folk. You see, tomorrow is one of my absolutely favorite holidays. I mean, who _doesn’t_ love a whole day dedicated to pressuring people into performative and expensive romantic gestures, and exploiting all the lonely singles by preying on their insecurities and feelings of inadequacy, so they’ll splurge to drown their sorrows in expensive chocolate, alcohol and sex toys? _Someone_ needs to keep the economy up and running, right?” J. laughs, a sharp, brittle, cruel thing. “But you see, I’ve found that partaking in all that really isn’t enough for me anymore. Not when I know that one of our very finest heroes out there has recently been jilted, and has to spend Valentines Day on her own. It breaks your heart, it really does. So, my dear, lovely Wonder Woman, I’m now speaking directly to you.”

Wondy’s eyes narrow. Her fists tighten by her sides. Harley sighs dreamily before she can stop herself.

“You must be itching for something to do tomorrow to take your mind off of your broken heart,” J. continues. “So, since I’m in a charitable mood, I’m graciously giving you that. Tomorrow, I’m going to sneak into 14 of D.C.’s very best bakeries, cafes, restaurants and chocolateries. All the places that make bank on Valentines! And I’m going to slip my signature laughing gas into their products, so that anyone who tries them leaves with a big old smile on their face.”

“Diana,” Ferdinand starts.

“I know,” Wondy shushes him. “I know.”

“The sooner you catch me, Wondy, the fewer places I’ll manage to spice up! And now for the real showstopper: if you don’t catch me by midnight, toots, I’ll show this town what _real_ fireworks look like. Here’s to an _explosive_ night!” Joker says, raising a flute of what looks like champagne.

He laughs. The feed cuts off. For a moment, the screen drowns in static, and then comes back to the terrified face of a news anchor, who quickly scrambles for something to say.

But Wondy is no longer listening. She’s too busy pacing as she gets on her phone. 

“I saw it, Etta,” she says. “He sent me a note. Are you tracing the broadcast? Good. Of course. I’ll meet you there.”

Then, she pauses. And looks at Harley.

Harley does her best to sit up straight and look helpful and not-suspect, which is a bit tricky with the way her brain’s still a bit fuzzy ‘round the edges — kind of like it was post electroshock therapy, but so much better. But she can’t quite stop twirling a strand of hair nervously between her fingers, and she thinks she’s still blushing like mad under her makeup. 

But Wondy must have seen something in her face anyway. Something in her visibly softens, starting with her eyes. She finds it in herself to smile at Harley, even through her anger at J. 

A wonder woman, indeed. 

“Do you have anywhere to go?” Wondy asks. 

Harley shakes her head. 

“I thought as much. You can stay in my room. I’m not very likely to sleep tonight.”

“In your —” Harley very nearly chokes. 

“Ferdinand, would you be so kind to show Harley the way?” Wondy asks her minotaur friend, ignoring Harley with her short-circuiting brain. “I’m afraid I must leave right away. We need to meet with the city’s law enforcement to figure out how to deal with the Joker problem.”

“Of course. Be careful out there, Diana,” Ferdinand says. 

Diana nods, and takes another long, piercing, lingering look at Harley, who does her best not to flinch. 

“Just — don’t call B-man,” Harley blurts out. 

Wondy’s perfectly-shaped eyebrow goes up. “Why wouldn’t I? He’s the expert on Joker.”

“Right. But you see, he’d — he really doesn’t like me,” Harley manages on the fly, because this is one part she and J. never discussed. “He wouldn’t believe I ran away from Mr. J. and that I wasn’t part of this plan. He’d think I broke my parole and he’d be sooo happy to throw me back in Arkham. Could we please just… handle this on our own for a bit? At least for a few hours tomorrow? I wanna help, Wondy. I think between the two of us, we can do it. Who needs a man, right?”

Wondy gives her another one of her deep, penetrating stares, and then her mouth twitches. Something like a smirk flashes over her lips, but it’s gone so soon that Harley almost thinks she imagined it. 

“Indeed,” Wondy says. “Okay. We’ll give it until tomorrow evening.”

“Perfect,” Harley stutters. 

Wondy nods at her. “Stay here,” she warns her. “Get some sleep. I’ll get you tomorrow morning.” 

Then, she takes Joker’s card. And flies right out the door. 

“Oh, she’s dreamy, she really is,” Harley sighs in her wake.

Ferdinand gives her a strange look, and then rumbles, “Come on. Let’s go upstairs.”

“Hey, can I call you Ferdie?” Harley calls out as she trots after him.

He harrumphs, and doesn’t answer. Harley decides to take it as a yes.

She chatters at her new friend Ferdie all the way up and to Wondy’s bedroom, and doesn’t protest when she hears Ferdie lock her inside. 

She’s way too busy internally _dying_.

“I’m in Wonder Woman’s bedroom,” she says to herself, leaning against the door. Then she pinches herself, too, just to convince herself that this is all real. 

And then, she squeals. 

Holy clown car crash, she’s in _Wonder Woman’s bedroom_!

(Now, of course, it would be much better if Wondy herself was here with her. But, fingers crossed. Baby steps, and all that.)

And in the meantime, Harley goes exploring, and is in the middle of stretching on the luxuriously comfortable bed when she gets the text.

_How’s it going_

Harley wastes no time typing back, _SHES PERFECT IM IN HER BED RIGHT NOW_

_Wow, you move fast._

Harley giggles, kicking her feet high in the air as she rolls around in the wonderfully soft velvet throw, making a mess of the pillows. 

_NOT LIKE THAT IDIOT. Shes off hunting 4 u. Said I can sleep in her bed. IT SMELLS LIKE HER AND SHE DID THE LASSO ON ME AND IM DYING_

_So she bought it?_

_Yup_ , Harley texts. _Were going clown catching tomorrow. U better hide bitch! team wonderbabes coming for u!_

 _You owe me so bad for this_ , writes J., and Harley sends him a bunch of emojis sticking their tongues out.

And then she takes a bunch of pictures of the bedroom, too, but just before she sends them to J., she hesitates. She doesn’t trust him not to share them around, for one. And besides…

She realizes doesn’t want to infringe on Wondy’s trust any more than she already has. 

Augh. This whole morals thing. Pesky as fuck. 

Harley groans, rolls around on the bed, and that’s when her eyes fall on the stack of books on the bedside table. She scans the titles out of curiosity alone, and perks up immediately. She’ll definitely be doing some reading tonight…

But first, bathroom.

She needs to change her panties.

***

It’s dawning by the time Diana flies back into the embassy building, and the first thing she does is head into the guest bathroom for a shower. It took all the diplomatic skills she had to convince the city not to go on full lockdown and shut down all the restaurants and cafes in town, but in the end, with Etta’s help, they agreed to try things her way first. 

She can only hope she can trust the citizens to keep their wits about them and not eat anything they buy today, unless it comes from a grocery store.

And even then, when they recorded her statement to air every hour on the local news, she urged caution.

 _How do Gothamites cope?_ she wonders as the hot water washes over her, wonderfully refreshing after the night she had. They must be made of stern stuff indeed, having to deal with similar stunts every other week. That the city still stands, vibrant and densely populated and pulsing with life as it is, is a mystery and a wonder to her now as she truly considers the implications. 

She only hopes the citizens of D.C. will have better sense than to go about this as business as usual, or worse — to flock to the restaurants in search of a thrill.

Then again, Diana’s learned to listen to her gut. And if what it’s telling her now is true, which she's pretty sure it is…

Well. If she’s right, then this time at least, the danger isn’t quite as grave as it seems. 

Not that she can afford to trivialize it. Not when the Joker is concerned — he might lash out harder than he intended to if he decides she doesn’t treat him seriously. She was right last night in that the whole thing does require a delicate, cautious approach — a balancing act, so to speak.

Diana smiles to herself, just a little, as she thinks about it, and for once, she doesn’t try to douse the fluttering spark of excitement in her stomach.

It’s a new game for her, and she’s… intrigued. To say the least.

She may be starting to see what Bruce sees in the whole thing. 

She dresses back into her work clothes, and keeps quiet making breakfast and loading it onto the tray; the last thing she wants to do is wake up Ferdinand. And as she reminds herself of the threat of danger to innocent people, she keeps the smile from breaking out onto her face. 

But the spark of a flutter is still there as she climbs the stairs to her own bedroom, and though she tries to keep it down, it gets stronger when she knocks on the door. 

“Harley?” she asks. “Are you awake?”

She can hear Harley on the other side, scrambling off the bed and all but running to the door, and holds in a sigh of relief. 

Not that she _thought_ Harley would escape. Not after what she saw in Harley's face last night, and more importantly, what the Perfect showed Diana of her heart. 

But it’s good to have one’s trust validated, all the same.

“Wondy!” Harley calls in infectious joy, as if seeing Diana at the door is the best thing that ever happened to her. “Welcome back!”

Diana takes her in…

And that’s it. She can’t help it anymore. That soft, protective place in her flares up, and this time, there’s no squashing it. 

“You’re wearing my shirt,” she points out as Harley makes way for her into the bedroom.

“Yup!” Harley confirms easily, shrugging. “I hope you don’t mind, Wondy, I kinda… snooped through your closet. Needed some jammies, you see.”

But clearly, Harley didn’t see fit to add any pants to the ensemble. The shirt, which is easily three sizes too big for her, hangs loosely over her slight frame, down to her mid-thigh; and her legs below are bare, exposing surprisingly strong, elegant gymnast’s muscles only adding to her allure. 

She looks rumpled like this, too. Her colorful hair freed from her signature pigtails, falling down over her face and shoulders in a soft, thick mess that invites touching. Her makeup washed off, but only mostly, with some of it sticking stubbornly to the skin around her eyes. All of it makes her look even more gracefully and authentically girlish than before, even softer, even more vulnerable, and as Diana watches her leap on the bed, and remembers her reaction to the Perfect's golden coils tightening around her…

She clears her throat, and turns away as she puts the tray down on the bed. 

She needs to focus. 

“I see you helped yourself to some reading,” she observes, perching on the edge of the bed as Harley makes herself comfortable drawing her knees to herself and leaning against the pillows near the headboard. The books from Etta lay strewn all over the bed, damning evidence that Harley seems to think little of.

“I sure did!” she says happily. “And I gotta say, Wondy, you’ve got fantastic taste. Are all your books sapphic romances?”

“These are from a friend,” Diana confesses. “I… I haven’t read them yet.”

“Well, you should!” Harley insists at once. “They’re awesome! This one in particular, it’s about a warrior knight on a quest to establish herself in a patriarchal society, and she competes with a bunch of male knights for the hand of a beautiful princess… I was in tears, Wondy, I really was.”

“That does sound good,” Diana admits, permitting herself a small smile. “I suppose I just wasn’t in the mood for romance recently.”

“Because of that pilot guy?”

Diana looks up at Harley, surprised. 

“Screw him!” Harley announces emphatically, raining crumbs around as she takes a huge bite out of a bagel. “Seriously, Wondy. He didn’t deserve you anyway.”

“Steve is a wonderful man,” Diana finds herself saying over a twinge in her heart. “He never stopped loving me. He just found it difficult to…”

_Keep waiting for me. Stay alone for weeks on end. Share me with the world, which always came first._

“He understands the importance of my mission,” Diana says after a moment, once the squeeze in her throat lets up. “But it wasn’t easy for him.”

“Well, I still think he’s an idiot,” Harley says after a moment. “Come on now. A smart, strong, beautiful gal like you? You’re such a goddess, Wondy, he should be grateful that you deigned to even look at him. You could have anyone you wanted, and no mistake.”

Slowly, watching her, Diana allows herself a smile. 

“Anyone?”

As if on cue, Harley blushes, and then very nearly chokes on a bagel that she wolfs down in only three bites. 

“Yeah,” she admits, giving Diana an impish, meaningful smile. “Anyone.”

They sit there for a minute or so, looking into each other’s eyes. 

Diana’s the first to look away.

“So, the Joker,” she starts, clearing her throat and reaching for a bagel of her own as Harley snatches a coffee mug. “I spoke to the police and the mayor. There was talk of mobilizing the national guard. They’re on standby, but I talked them down from an outright intervention and a total citywide lockdown. It would escalate things unnecessarily, and might even provoke the Joker into more drastic action. So I thought that it’d be better if we went with your idea and tried to handle it quietly, just the two of us.”

“Oh!” Harley tries to clap, remembers just in time that she’s holding a coffee mug, and grins instead. “Great job, girl! This way we can go about it all sneaky-like. Like, a proper teamup!”

“Yes.” Diana picks up the card from Joker that she also brought on the tray, and turns it to see the back. “These quotes here,” she starts. “Is it safe to assume they contain clues as to where he’ll strike today?”

“Gimme.” Harley downs the rest of the coffee in one go, puts the mug down on the bed — Diana quietly picks it up and sets it on the tray instead — and takes the card to scan the back. “Yeah, maybe? He does it with Batsy all the time, the doofus,” Harley judges, grinning as she reads. “But it probably isn’t as simple as that. Eddie’s the riddle guy, and Mr. J.’s clues are a bit more… twisted. Most likely he wants you to _think_ the quotes are clues. But the punchline could easily be that they end up not leading you anywhere, or to the wrong place while he’s somewhere else entirely. That’s what he tends to find funny.”

Diana frowns, feeling frustration already build hotly beneath her temple. She needs to call Etta with this update — Harley may have just turned their whole carefully planned strategy to dust.

Merciful Hera, how does Bruce do it?

“Still, it’s a good hypothesis to start with,” Harley allows. “Better than nothing, right?”

“What do you make of the first quote?” Diana asks.

Harley grabs another bagel from the tray and finishes it in three bites as she deliberates.

“ _This is the night, it’s a beautiful night_ ,” she reads out, and then laughs. “Well, that’s obviously from _Lady and the Tramp_. You know, the Disney movie? It traumatized me so much as a kid, Wondy, you’ve no idea. Have you seen it?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Diana admits. 

“Well, it’s about this adorable little puppy, see, and she grows up in a loving family, but one time this evil lady comes to look after the house and she hates the puppy, and there’s a whole racist-ass song with cats, and the puppy runs away and this suave little street dog shows her around and they have this iconic spaghetti meatball scene, and then there’s the pound scene that I just can’t watch ‘cause it makes me cry so much to see all those cute little doggos in cages, and —”

“So,” Diana clears her throat, trying hard not to smile. “This particular quote. What do you think it could be referring to?”

“Well obviously your first bet would be an Italian place that has spaghetti meatballs,” Harley says with a shrug. “Bet there’s a bunch of places like that ‘round town. They could potentially have _bella_ or _notte_ in their names. Or possibly Tony’s. That’s the guy who owns the restaurant in the movie.”

“Okay.” Diana nods. “Then we’ll start with that. Wait here, I’ll bring my lap computer.”

Harley snorts, nearly upending the tray onto the sheets. “Do you mean a laptop?”

“I… yes.”

“Well,” Harley proclaims, “I say _lap computer_ sounds way cuter.”

Diana shakes her head and ducks into the office for the thing, however it’s called.

They sit by the headboard together, shoulder to shoulder, as Diana brings up a map of D.C. and they start narrowing down the possible attack sites based on the clues. Harley operates the computer while Diana writes down the names and addresses they settle on, and they go about it slowly, quote by quote — most of which Diana isn’t familiar with.

But Harley is, and thoroughly, too. And more than that, she seems to be able to read the significance behind each of them quite easily, and much quicker than Etta’s team. Diana doesn’t mention it, but she’s quietly astounded by the insight Harley demonstrates over and over again, by her unconventional way of thinking, by the way she’s able to make connections based not on the obvious cues, but on her intimate understanding of how the Joker thinks. 

“People really tend to underestimate you, don’t they,” she muses softly while Harley puzzles over all the possible meanings of the line _You had me at hello_.

Harley pauses, and looks up at her with her huge, blue eyes.

“Oh.” She swallows, and then gives a nervous, self-deprecating little laugh as she shrugs. “Yeah, I guess so. I’m kinda used to it by now.”

That soft, protective place in Diana flares up at that, and squeezes over her throat. 

“You shouldn’t be,” she tells her earnestly. 

Harley doesn’t seem to know what to do with that — she shrugs and laughs again, looking away. But her face clears up all the same, and glows under the praise in a pretty blush that Diana finds it impossible to look away from. 

“Oh, Wondy,” Harley sighs. “You really are the real deal. Exactly what it says on the tin.”

“Please,” Diana finds herself saying. “Call me Diana.”

Harley beams at her, a free, happy, radiant expression that melts that soft place in Diana’s heart just a little more. Then, she shifts even closer so her warm, pale arm presses against Diana’s, and leans her head on Diana’s shoulder.

Diana doesn’t push her away. 

***

“Okay, so we’ve got the where,” Etta says on the phone while Diana paces in the kitchen, waiting for Harley to finish dressing. “Potentially. Even though our guesses can also be completely wrong.”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s just tough shit. We’ll go with them anyway. Your girl’s theories do mostly line up with what we came up with on our end, so we’re gonna proceed as planned. The question now is, when.”

“None of the quotes he posted contain any numbers,” Diana says. “Or references to time.”

“Right. But our codebreaker has a theory that I’m finding more and more plausible. She noticed one thing, Di: there are fourteen quotes. And the date is February 14th. 14th day of the second month. Quinn said Joker likes his symbolism?”

“That’s right,” Diana confirms. “So you think — ”

“Exactly,” Etta confirms. “2 pm is 14:00 if you use the 24-hour clock — military time.”

“Two and fourteen,” Diana spells out. “You’re right, that does sound plausible.”

“So that’s our working theory,” Etta presses on. “That he’ll start making his rounds at 2 pm, just past lunchtime. Once the restaurants start getting real traffic.”

Diana closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “I think we’ll start making our rounds earlier than that, just to be sure.”

“Of course. That’s what we’re doing, too. Our agents are already in position.”

“Good. I’ll contact you as soon as anything happens.”

“Di? Are you _sure_ you want to play it this way? You’re working off some pretty risky assumptions there, girl.”

“I trust my instincts. They haven’t failed me yet. I only ask that you and the mayor trust me, too.”

Etta sighs. “You know we do. It’s just, this is a whole new situation and I don’t like it one bit. I fucking hate clowns.”

Diana allows herself a smile. “It’ll be fine, Etta. You have my word. And you’ve made sure I have all the backup I need it.”

“Kick his ass, Di. Good luck.”

Etta hangs up, and Diana gives a deep sigh as she slips the phone into the pocket of the winter coat she’s planned to wear over her armor for the day. 

Harley makes her way down five minutes later. 

“Whadya think?” she asks, turning around for Diana’s inspection. 

“You look very pretty,” Diana tells her truthfully, because Harley does. Her hair is done up to hide it under a hat, her makeup is still distinct but very much muted compared to what she usually wears, and she skipped the white facepaint, taking the _incognito_ thing to heart. 

Her clothes are still colorful, but common enough that she shouldn’t draw too much attention. Just a regular puffy pink winter jacket, blue joggers, a sequined bag around her waist and fluffy white thigh-high boots. Diana wonders where Harley stored all of it, since she didn’t see a bag last night, but she decides that it’s probably wiser not to ask.

“Aw, shucks, Wondy.” Harley giggles, slipping on a pair of sunglasses. “ _You_ look drop-dead gorgeous, you sexy beast, you.”

Diana swallows around the laugh building in her throat, and keeps it in.

“Thank you. Are you ready?”

“Ready, babe!”

“Good. Ferdinand, please stay inside today. I promise we’ll be careful.”

Ferdinand nods. Diana makes it to the front door, and waits for Harley to pass her before she closes it behind her. 

Then, she stops, and opens her arms. “Harley?”

“Yes, Dee-dee?”

Diana smiles. “Come on. I’ll give you a lift.”

“Aaa!” Harley cries, her eyes going huge. “You mean —”

“Yes.”

“Best. Valentines. Ever.” Harley jumps about a foot in the air and squeals in excitement, and launches herself into Diana’s arms, snuggling in close without a moment’s hesitation.

And that warm, soft place in Diana’s heart goes just that little bit softer.

***

Even as she feels the wind whip her face and watches as Washington D.C. blurs way down there under her feet, Harley still has trouble convincing herself the whole thing isn’t a dream.

Wondy’s arms are blissfully strong and sure around her, filling her with a deep, primal sense of safety she’s only rarely experienced before. Harley’s face is warm as it’s pressed into Wondy’s chest, and even though there’s the material of Wondy’s coat in the way, she can still feel the heat of her, and catch whiffs of Wondy’s fresh soap and pretty, woodsy perfume.

And yeah, sure, her eyes are starting to water a little from the chill and the wind and the speed of the flight as they cut through the clouds. But so damn what. This is still far too close to a hallucination of happiness for Harley to let herself believe it’s actually happening, and to her, of all people.

She clings to Wondy for all she’s worth nonetheless. Hallucination or not, she’s gonna mine the moment for all it’s worth while she has it. 

When Wondy eventually touches down in a secluded section of a park, between some trees where no one should be able to spot them, Harley stumbles, quite unsteady on her feet — and maybe a little on purpose, too. But hey, Wondy catches her immediately, and smiles as she steadies her. So maybe that’s okay.

“Come on,” Wondy says, adjusting her own sunglasses, hat and scarf as she takes a look around. “Let’s go.”

She sets off at a brisk clip towards the _Bella notte_ restaurant that, as they discovered, is run by a guy named Tony. Harley has to jog to keep up with her. The moment Wondy notices it, she adjusts her gait in a gesture that’s so small and subtle, and yet so kind and thoughtful, that Harley’s crush gets so much worse just from this one thing. 

She doesn’t remember the last time someone tried to match their pace to hers, rather than just expect her to keep up with _them_. Even Red did that, without even realizing it; she constantly expected Harley to get over her hurts and pains sooner than she could, and would get impatient with her despite her best efforts not to.

All things considered, it gets Harley a little wobbly, a little weepy, a little misty-eyed and throat-blocked. 

So she’s all the more grateful when Wondy says, “This is it.”

And yup, it’s a restaurant all right. There’s even a massive picture of spaghetti meatballs below the sign, and it instantly makes Harley’s tummy grumble. 

“Hungry?” she asks, grabbing Wondy’s hand and pulling her along towards the restaurant. “Come on, Dee-dee, we might as well get something to eat while we wait.”

Wondy looks like she wants to protest, but follows Harley easily enough, and keeps quiet as a severe-looking mature lady waiter leads them to a table for two. 

Now, it’d be an exaggeration to say that the poor thing looks pale as death. Harley’s seen death, up close and personal, and the lady's complexion is definitely a couple shades above that. But she looks unsure all right, darting little glances around the joint and at the windows, and so do the rest of the staff as Harley takes a curious look-see around the place.

She shakes her head mournfully. Trust capitalism to force people to come to work even after a madman explicitly said he’d target eateries on live TV. 

“Can I get you ladies something to drink?” asks the lady, whose name tag announces that her name is Emily. 

“Just water for me, please,” Wondy says, smiling up at her reassuringly. 

“I’ll have the coke, Em,” Harley says right away. “Make it three bottles. None of that diet shit, okay? Mamma needs some sugar! Oooh, and can we get some garlic bread? Like, a whole basket? And also I’ll have the meatballs, with _all_ the parmesan, and maybe some of those crispy paninis, extra ham, extra cheese, extra ketchup? And—”

She catches Wondy’s eye, and stops, blushing worse than Eddie during cavity searches. 

“That’s it,” she finishes on the exhale.

But Wondy — wonder of wonders — doesn’t seem to mind her voracious appetite, or even find it surprising. She simply nods and turns to Emily.

“I’ll have a panini, too,” she says. “Thank you, Emily.”

Emily gives them both a bemused thing that only someone exceedingly merciful would call a smile, and then makes herself scarce. 

“Sorry,” Harley mumbles, unable to stop the way her hands start fidgeting with a napkin, tearing it into scraps. “I just — I have a quick metabolism.”

Wondy takes her sunglasses off and puts them down on the table, revealing eyes that are bright with humor and crinkling a little at the edges as she looks at Harley.

“You should see the feasts on Themyscira,” she says quietly, leaning in so that the tiny handful of other patrons don’t overhear them. “Sometimes, they would go on for days. The Amazons know the pleasure of good food, Harley. And they know how to put it away, too.”

“Aw, that sounds like heaven. An island full of beautiful muscly warrior women, _and_ they don’t frown at other women stuffing their faces? No wonder they call it Paradise Island. Wish I could visit one day,” Harley sighs, feeling wistful all of a sudden, that throat-blocking wet feeling back at it again. 

“I don’t see why not,” Wondy says. “I could take you with me the next time I visit my mother and sisters.”

“Really?” Harley gasps, because no way, Jose. There’s a limit to too-good-to-be-true that even Harley acknowledges. “You don’t think they’d mind?”

“I don’t see why they would.”

“I’m… kind of a felon.”

“You’re a warrior,” Wondy says, reaching out to take Harley’s hand, and just like that, Harley can’t breathe. “Everything I’ve heard about you confirms it,” Wondy continues, pinning Harley down with her painfully earnest eyes. “You’ve fought the battle for your own independence. You’ve earned your redemption. You’ve faced many trials, and you’ve conquered them and became stronger through them. You’ve got more strength and joy in you than you realize, Harley Quinn. I can sense honor in you, too. The Amazons will respect that.”

 _How much honor is there in devising a whole madcap plan relying on deception, just to flirt with a beautiful woman?_ , some distant part of Harley wonders. But not very loudly. 

The rest of her is busy screaming at the top of its lungs. 

“I,” she tries, nearly chokes on her own breath, swallows, and tries again. “I honestly don’t know that I believe much in honor these days.”

“That’s a shame.” Wondy smiles, and squeezes Harley’s hand. “That’s all the more reason to take you to Themyscira. You deserve to be treated with honor, and you deserve to know your true worth.”

And suddenly, just like that, Harley feels sick. 

“Excuse me,” she cries, snatching her hand away from Wondy’s wonder-grip and jumping to her feet. “Bladder emergency. Need the little ladies’ room. Be right back! Don’t go anywhere!”

She dashes to the bathroom as soon as she can — it’s empty, thank you lucky stars! — and ducks into a stall. 

_CALL IT OFF_ she texts Joker, collapsing onto a closed toilet seat. _THE WHOLE PLAN IS OVER ITS AN EMERGENCY_

The reply is immediate.

_????_

“Fuck,” Harley hisses, and calls him instead. 

“I said call it the fuck off!” she yell-whispers into the phone. “I’m pulling the plug! We don’t need the plan anymore!”

“Bitch, I did _not_ drive all the way to D.C. on fucking Valentines Day and prepare this whole intricate bit just for you to get flop sweat!” Joker hisses into her ear, clearly pissed. “I already got the fireworks! What do you want me to do, _not_ set them off?”

“No no no, J., you don’t get it! I said I don’t need none of that anymore! She’s just so — so good and earnest and honest, and she trusts me, and she’s already said she’ll take me to her lesbian paradise island! I didn’t even need to punch any bad guys for that! So why don’t we just —”

“Well, I already sent Buster and Spider over to your place, so tough luck,” Joker announces. 

“You call them right now, mister, and tell them to — aw, shit.”

“What? What’s happening?”

“I don’t know, but it sounded like something big just went kablooey.” 

“Ah.” J. sounds far too chirpy for Harley’s liking. “Yup. That’d be my boys.” 

“You pasty-ass son of a —”

“I’m only trying to be a good wingman,” J. huffs. “That’s what friends do!”

Something thuds against the bathroom door. Harley curses. 

“Call the rest of them off, you hear me?”

“Oh, you little miss Goody Clown Shoes.” Joker laughs. “Just trust me, Harls. I know what I’m doing. Now go out there and kick some ass to impress your lady.” 

“J.-J., I swear to god —”

He hangs up, and Harley has to scream because it’s either that or hurl her phone at the wall. 

Why do men have to ruin _everything_?

Then there’s another thud at the door, and Harley sighs, slipping the phone back into her fanny pack. 

Like it or not, it’s time to whoop some ass.

She runs out of the bathroom just in time to see Wondy catch Buster in her lasso. Spider’s down but not out, playing possum like the smart guy he is. Harley pats him fondly on the head as she steps over him. Some tables and chairs have been kicked over and a whole window lost its glass, but there are no bullet holes anywhere that she can see, and the few civilians present are cowering in relative safely behind the bar. 

Good.

“Hey Wondy!” Harley calls out, flipping over the debris of the window. “Need a hand?”

“Watch out, there’s another one —”

“Got him!”

Wasting no more time, Harley builds momentum and somersaults over to the bushes, where she’s caught a glimpse of Gary, one of J.’s newest hench recruits. He sees her just a blink too late, and doesn’t manage to run far before she lands right on him, kicking him in the head and knocking him down into the snow as she flips over him.

“Hi, Gary!” she calls out happily. “Sorry ‘bout that. I _told_ J. to put a moratorium on the plan. Is he here?”

“What are you doing, you crazy bitch?” Gary sputters, trying to get up on his feet and reaching for the inside of his jacket. 

“Now, that’s not very nice, is it?” Harley tuts, and then leaps on him again, aiming just so that she lands on the naughty arm and hears the deeply satisfying crunch of bone. “We’ll have none of that language here, Gary. And no guns neither. Wondy doesn’t like them, see.”

“What the fuck are you even doing here, you traitor?” Gary groans, sputtering snow as Harley puts her foot on the back of his head to keep him down. 

“That’s none of your business, is it, Gary?” Harley graciously takes her foot off him and grabs him by the back of his jacket. “Now. Is J.-J. _here_?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Harley sighs. Oh well, the easy way it is. 

“Hey, Dee-dee!” she calls out. “Catch!”

She leaps away from Gary, but only to get enough room to swing around and backflip-kick him in the stomach hard enough that he falls ass over tit out of the bushes and straight into Wondy’s waiting lasso.

Not that any of the schmucks deserve the privilege. 

She strolls out of the bushes after Gary, whistling as she goes. Wondy is just in the middle of untying the guys — Spider included — and shepherding them over to the pigs, who arrived with their paddy wagon all ready a little too quickly for Harley’s liking. 

But eh. They probably increased security around restaurants after Joker’s threats. Harley’s not gonna worry about that. 

“The Joker wasn’t with them,” Wondy tells her, doing that graceful heroic wonderfrown again. “And they had no Joker gas with them. But they arrived at 2:14, on the dot.”

“That’s weird,” Harley allows, truthfully. “I kinda thought he’d try to do the poisoning thing personally.”

“Yes.” Wondy glances at Harley. “Are you okay?”

“Right as rain! Still hungry, though. Think there’s a chance we can still get our food? Since we stopped a crime, and all.”

“I’m not sure there’s time for that, We should be heading to the next potential location, and —”

“Oh, there’s _always_ time for food!” Harley announces. “Or we could get it to go. Hey Tony!” she calls out to the man in a chef's hat, who’s slowly peeking over the bartop. “Think we could get our order to go?”

Nervously, the guy she assumes to be Tony nods, and starts barking orders to the staff. Wondy looks a bit stunned, and Harley beams at her, tugging on her hand. 

“Good teamwork, right?” she says. “Wonderbabes: one, clown car: zero!”

Slowly, Wondy smiles at her. 

They get the food on the house.

***

The paninis from Tony are delicious. So is the plate of spaghetti that Diana and Harley share, eating out of a styrofoam container with plastic forks as they sit on a bench outside, watching a cafe called _Viviane_ , which they chose based on a quote from a movie Harley and Etta both told Diana was called _Pretty Woman_.

It struck Diana as a peculiar title for a story, for aren’t all women pretty? But she chalked it up to the general oddness of man’s world, of the kind that she’s given up trying to understand. In the past, the effort only upset her.

Her bemusement only grows when Harley, her mouth still full, takes it upon herself to explain the story to her as they wait for something to happen. Diana can only vaguely follow it, and the parts she gleans don’t exactly encourage her to give the movie a try; but she suspects Harley’s interpretation is more interesting anyway, especially when she starts doing voices. 

“So,” Harley asks as she swallows her last mouthful. “You Amazon gals probably don’t have the concept of sex work as like… a thing, do you?”

“No,” Diana agrees. “But some of my sisters have memories of it before Themyscira’s isolation. And some of our library texts speak of it as well.”

“So what’s your take on it? Or maybe… sex in general?”

“We believe that there’s no shame in it,” Diana explains. “To be quite honest, I still find it difficult to understand the depth of stigma man’s world has created around it.”

“Say it, sister!” Harley groans expressively. “Man, can I just emigrate? Do you guys have green cards? You’re the ambassador, right? Where do I apply?”

“We’ll see how you like it when you visit,” Diana tells her with a smile. 

Harley beams at her, and her face looks like the sunrise. “You said when!”

“I keep the promises I make, Harley,” Diana assures her, if only to keep that smile on Harley’s face for just a bit longer. 

“Wondy, you’re just too good to be true.” Harley collects the empty containers and wrappers, chugs them into a rubbish bin on her side of the bench, and then — after only a moment’s hesitation — she reaches out to take Diana’s hand in hers. “Now,” she says. “Tell me about your sapphic island of perfection?”

So Diana does. She tells Harley about her mother and the love and respect between them, and she tells her about her mother’s love for General Antiope. She talks about her training as a child, about the holidays the Amazons celebrate, the rites they observe. She even starts telling Harley about her past romances — 

But then, exactly an hour after the attack on Tony’s establishment, Joker’s people strike again.

Or perhaps it’s more fitting to say: Joker’s person. There’s only one this time, dressed in a long coat with a few green strands sticking out from under his hat, skulking around the entrance to the cafe for a moment or two before going in. A moment later, there’s a scream, and both Diana and Harley jump to their feet. 

It’s over in a matter of minutes. The perpetrator surrenders almost at once. And just like last time, he isn’t the actual Joker, just a henchman with a green wig, and confesses under the Perfect that he has no idea where his boss is hiding. 

He also doesn’t have anything even resembling Joker’s laughing gas on his person.

“Suffering Sappho,” Diana sighs as the police officers take the man away. “He’s playing with us.”

“Sure looks like it,” Harley agrees. “But hey! At least now we know his attacks happen at one hour intervals. That’s something, right? And I know just the thing to warm us up after that stakeout. Come on, Wondy, I’m buying.”

In the end, Diana agrees. She’s beginning to find that saying no to Harley Quinn is a challenge as great as, if not greater than, finding the Joker’s hideout.

They spend a pleasant half hour chatting in the cafe, and then move on to the next target, which they guess to be a confectionery called _Notting Hill_. At 4:14 pm, as they expected, a group of Joker’s people attack the place, are easily subdued, and have no information of value. 

Which sets the pattern for the rest of the night. 

Normally, Diana would be frustrated by that. But Harley’s company makes all the difference, and sweeps her up into a whole other mood than she expected herself to be in just last night. They fly from establishment to establishment, spend a few minutes at each one thwarting an attack, and the rest of the time, they just — talk. 

Harley makes it a point to order something at each of the places they rescue. She convinces Diana to sit down with her for longer and longer stretches of time before they move on to the next location. 

And, little by little, she charms her way through Diana’s defences, until the soft place in Diana’s heart tingles and throbs for her in a way Diana feared it wouldn’t be able to tingle for anyone besides Steve.

It’s only late in the evening that she realizes she hasn’t thought of Steve even once the entire day.

So perhaps it’s appropriate that, the moment she realizes it, they finally find the Joker.

It’s fourteen minutes to midnight when he announces his presence, not at any of the establishments he hinted at in his card, but at the foot of the Washington Monument. Etta is the one who informs them of this development, telling them over the phone that Joker took the Monument guards hostage and that Etta’s agents evacuated the Mall and had the National Guard surround the entire place. Diana’s first instinct is to leave Harley hidden in the Themyscira embassy, a safe distance away —

“No, Wondy,” Harley insists. “I’m not letting you face him alone. I know how his mind works, okay? And I’ll be fine. I swear I’ll climb on your back if I need to.”

And, in the end, Diana finds that it wouldn’t be fair to deny Harley the confrontation that she so obviously wants. So she lifts Harley into her arms and flies over to the Mall immediately, hoping to surprise Joker. 

It doesn’t work. He notices them before they land, and stops what he was doing — which appears to be defacing the Monument with crude graffiti — and leaps over to a set of detonators he stacked around the obelisk.

“Ah-ah-ah, ladies,” he warns, wagging a finger in the air. “Not so fast, or this treasured phallic symbol of oppression goes boom.”

By Diana’s side, Harley snorts — she’s apparently just noticed that the graffiti Joker left on the structure reads _Batman’s dick_. Diana doesn’t let herself get distracted. 

“We’ve found you now,” she tells Joker. “Surrender, and I’ll transport you to Arkham without any further violence.”

“You really don’t know me at all, do you, Wonder Gal.” Joker grins, terrifyingly wide. “Didn’t Harley tell you? Violence is the best part! And besides, you didn’t _find_ me, did you? I had to announce where I am so you clueless little girls would stop running around like children lost in the fog.”

“Well, these children are gonna whoop your pasty ass!” Harley announces just a tad too theatrically, assuming a battle stance. 

“Release the hostages,” Diana insists. “Step away from the detonators. Then no harm will come to you.”

“Why the aggression, Wonder Bra? I did all of this for you! Didn’t you have a good time running around town with that sassy little turncoat I used to call my friend? Isn’t this the most fun Valentines Day you’ve had in ages? It’s okay to admit it, you know. I’m known for my special touch with heroes. Just ask Batsy.”

Diana’s already reaching for the Perfect, and throws it at Joker before Joker finishes the rant. It doesn’t connect, though.

A batarang knocks Joker to the ground before it can.

“No!” Diana lets out, at the same time that Harley does the same. But Bruce doesn’t listen. He descends on Joker in full armor like a ton of bricks, seemingly out of nowhere, and then a very strange thing happens — Harley breaks away from Diana’s side, rushes Bruce, latches herself onto his back, and starts pummeling him with her fists.

“No!” she cries out. “No, no, no! Stop that! Dammit, B-man, you’re ruining everything!”

“Stay out of it, Quinn,” Bruce growls, pinning the Joker to the ground and closing a fist around his throat as he tries to throw Harley off. “I’m here for Joker. I’ll deal with _you_ later.”

“Hiya, darling!” Joker wheezes, trying to catch Bruce’s face with a pocket knife. “Happy Valentines Day!”

“Both of you — ugh!” Harley cries, and then jumps at Bruce again. “You — damn — idiots! This has been such a perfect day, and you just _had_ to butt in, didn’t you? We had everything under control!”

 _In more ways than one, I’d say_ , Diana thinks, watching them. She sighs, and pinches the bridge of her nose for a moment. 

Then, she gets to work. 

First, she catches Harley in the Perfect, wrapping it around her middle, and tugs. Harley flies over to her and lands at Diana’s feet, looking surprised, stunned, and already a little dazed. 

As tempting as it is to keep the Perfect around her and recreate the scene from last night, though, Diana doesn’t let herself dawdle. She pulls on the coils and throws it around Bruce next, forcing him off of Joker. 

“Enough,” she commands, taking no satisfaction in Bruce’s outraged expression. “Both of you. This stops now.”

“Let me go,” Bruce growls. “What are you doing, Diana? This madman was just about to blow up the Monument!”

“No, he wasn’t!” Harley cries out. 

“No, he wasn’t,” Diana confirms. 

They all stare at her in silence. The Joker is the first to break it, giggling nervously from where he’s still sprawled on the ground, looking winded. 

“Um,” he tries. “I mean, I kind of was?”

He points to the detonators. Diana rolls her eyes. 

“Go ahead, then,” she challenges. “Pull the lever.”

“Diana!” Bruce shouts. 

Diana doesn’t budge. “Do it, Joker.”

“Wondy?” Harley asks, still kneeling at her feet. 

Diana glances down at her, and sees her shocked, wide-eyed expression. She can see guilt there, too, plain as day, and the slow realization dawning in her eyes. 

She gives her a small, fleeting smile and a wink. Harley gasps. 

Diana turns back to Joker. 

“Well?” she demands. “It’s almost midnight, Joker. We’re waiting. Or is the whole thing just a bluff?”

“I’m not sure you realize what you’re asking for, toots,” Joker says, climbing unsteadily to his feet. 

“Oh, I think I realize more than you know.”

“Batsy?” Joker’s eyes dart to Bruce, who’s still struggling with the grip of the Perfect.

“ _Don’t_ listen to her,” Bruce growls through gritted teeth.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Harley gets back up and puts her hands on her hips. “Just do it, J.-J. The jig is up. She knows.”

“But —” Joker’s eyes go wide. It’s one of the most satisfying sights Diana’s ever seen. “But — she knows?”

“Clearly.” Harley rolls her eyes. “Come on, let’s get this over with. I _told_ you to call the whole thing off.”

Joker stares at both of them, his wide, uncertain eyes darting from Diana to Harley and back again. 

Then, he huffs. And turns to pull the lever on one of the detonators. 

“No!” Bruce shouts, but it’s too late — a moment later, there’s the familiar hiss, and the first rocket flies up to explode in pinks and reds and golds across the sky. 

They stand there for a moment — all four of them — with their necks craned up, their gazes fixed on the sky. It’s only when the salve of fireworks ends, in a rather stunning display of heart-shaped light, that Bruce finds his voice again.

“Fireworks?” 

“Yup!” Joker throws his hands up in the air, then sits down on the ground, sulking. “Fireworks. Happy Valentines Day, and all that.” He lifts his gaze to glare at both Diana and Harley. “You’re welcome.”

“So, um.” Harley scuffs the snow with her shoe. “Guess I owe you an explanation, Wondy.”

“Save it, Quinn,” Bruce tells her. “I’m taking you in, too.”

“No,” Diana tells him calmly. “You’re not.”

And once again, three pairs of eyes fix on her. Diana bears it easily, and then shrugs, releasing Bruce from the Perfect. It seems safe to do so, now. 

Predictably, Bruce lunges to secure the Joker and puts him in handcuffs right away. Joker doesn’t struggle against it, but sulks all the same.

“How did you know?” he demands in a whiny voice. 

“There were several clues,” Diana explains, affording herself a smile. “I'm sorry to say this, Harley, but you're not as good of an actor as you probably think you are. But Joker's choice of targets, and the fact that none of the attacks were lethal — or even particularly violent — was the biggest giveaway.”

“Well, poo.” Joker sighs mournfully. “I always knew my soft heart would be the death of me.”

“Will someone explain what’s going on,” Bruce demands. “Diana, what’s gotten into you?”

“Oh Batsy, isn’t it obvious?” Joker twists and cranes his neck just so he can laugh in Bruce’s face. “The whole plan was so that the girls could spend the whole day on a romantic date. I was playing matchmaker.”

“For whom?!”

“For me,” says Harley, stepping forward. She folds her hands nervously in front of her, and looks up imploringly at Diana. “Sorry, Wondy. It was J.’s idea. And I was gonna call him off in that first restaurant, honest! But he wouldn’t listen.”

“Is it safe to say there never were any kidnapped hyenas?” Diana asks, but she makes sure to smile, and Harley’s face clears up a bit at the sight. 

“Nah,” she confirms. “Not this time.”

“Good.” Diana lets her smile grow for just a moment before she assumes a stern expression again. “Batman, I believe you and the Joker may leave now. We’ve got the situation well in hand.”

“No one’s leaving until I know what’s going on.”

“Harley?” Diana asks.

Harley chews on her bottom lip for a moment, but then she nods. She turns to the two men by the Monument. 

“Look, it really is quite simple,” she says. “I wanted to meet Wondy. Mr. J. thought that it’d be cool if I got to team up with her, so he came up with this whole stupid plan to get us to work together against him. And I didn't know what the plan was, but it got pretty obvious from the start that it was all so we could spend the day going from one romantic location to another. No one was gonna get seriously hurt! I was really big on that.”

“She was,” Joker pipes in. “Should’ve seen her nag me. All the way to D.C. It’s a long drive, people!”

“One of Joker’s men has a broken arm,” Diana points out. 

“Well.” Harley grins. “I did say no one got _seriously_ hurt. And he had a gun, plus, he called me a bitch. I’d say that’s fair.”

“Was it Gary?” Joker asks. 

“Yup!”

“Oh, that guy is _so_ fired.”

“This still makes you a crime accessory, Quinn,” Bruce insists. “You’ve broken parole.”

“Aw, come on, Bats! That was a temporary lapse of judgment! Have a little sympathy!”

“Diana,” Bruce tries. “They deceived you. Quinn was in on it all along. That doesn’t bother you?”

“None of Joker’s people had weapons,” Diana tells him.

“Except Gary,” Harley reminds her. 

“That son of a bitch,” Joker adds. 

“And the only person who got hurt was one of the criminals. At worst, we’re dealing with property damage, unauthorized fireworks,” Diana glances at the graffiti, “and vandalism. I don’t think the whole affair warrants putting Harley back behind bars.”

“Wondy,” Harley whispers. Diana smiles at her. 

“People could have gotten hurt,” Bruce says. “You’ve gambled with their lives.”

“Not really.” Diana shrugs. “I was pretty sure of it last night, but today’s activity confirmed it. In any case, I asked Etta to populate each of the locales with secret service agents in disguise. They posed as both customers and staff. If any real customers showed up, they were politely advised to leave. Only the kitchen staff remained, and they were well-protected. We prepared for this.”

A moment of stunned silence follows that announcement. 

Then, Joker laughs. 

“Kudos to you, toots,” he says, looking genuinely pleased now. “I know when I’m beaten. Well played! I really wasn’t expecting that level of cunning from _you_.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Diana tells him coldly. “From what I understand, you’re rather notorious for underestimating women.”

Harley whimpers. Joker closes his mouth, and goes back to looking sulky.

And Bruce allows the shadow of a smirk to cross his face before he’s all business again.

“So you’re saying Quinn should suffer no consequences for this?” he demands.

“Oh, believe me.” Diana smirks, pulls on the Perfect, and wraps it around Harley’s hand, pulling her in close. “There will be consequences. I have my own brand of punishment, and I have ways to ensure she doesn’t make trouble.”

Harley gives another soft whimper and leans back against Diana, who reaches out and holds her close. For a moment, she holds Bruce’s eye over the pink wool of Harley’s hat.

Finally, Bruce grunts. And pulls on Joker’s arm. 

“Come on,” he growls at him. “You’ve done enough for one day.”

Joker laughs, and immediately starts chattering at Bruce as they walk on around the Monument, past the bound guards and towards the park where Diana guesses Bruce parked the Batwing. She watches them go for a moment, then steps away from Harley. 

“It’s over, Etta,” she says into the phone as she gets to work untying the poor guards. “You can tell your people to stand down.”

“And thank god for that. Please send the hostages our way, will you? We’re gonna start taking statements.”

“Of course.”

Then, to Diana’s surprise, Harley comes up to help her, and starts apologizing to the tied-up men. Together, they untie the four guards quickly. When Diana glances at her, Harley’s cheeks are burning and her eyes stay downcast even after the last of the hostages thanks them and makes himself scarce. 

“Look, I’m gonna pay for the busted windows and all,” Harley murmurs. 

Diana nods. “Good.”

“And I’m really sorry for… all of that.”

“I accept your apology.”

Finally, Harley lifts her eyes.

“You —” she tries, swallows, and tries again. “You’re not mad at me?”

Diana smiles. 

And pulls on her arm, twists them so that Harley’s back is against the Monument, and stands in close. 

“The Golden Perfect doesn’t just make people tell the truth,” she says, lifting a hand to run it lightly down Harley’s cheek. “It shows me the truth of their hearts. I saw the truth of your heart last night, Harley. And I saw why you did this.”

“Damn.” Harley gives a nervous giggle that comes out more than a little breathless. “Well, that’s embarrassing.”

“Why?” Diana wonders. 

“‘Cause _I’m_ embarrassing. I mean, holy stupid stunts, Wondy. I was hoping I’d impress you, but you must think I’m totally ridiculous.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Diana says.

Harley’s breath catches as she looks into Diana’s eyes. Diana smiles, lifts her chin further up, and leans in.

“I happen to think you’re quite charming,” Diana whispers, and kisses her. 

Harley tastes sweet, like the donuts and hot chocolate they had at the last cafe they visited. A little bit like lipstick, too, and just a hint of mint. 

But most of all, she tastes of enthusiasm and eager submission, and the soft place inside Diana swells until it’s all she can feel. 

She pulls away, gently. Harley sways. For a heartbeat, they just stand there gazing at one another, feeling out each other’s responses, testing the waters. 

Slowly, Harley grins. 

“Hey, you know what we should do?” she asks. "Go out on a proper bang!"

And then, before Diana can say anything, she leaps to the detonators and starts setting them off, one by one. 

It startles a laugh out of Diana. She ignores her phone buzzing — Etta no doubt, wondering why there are suddenly fireworks exploding all over the sky — and decides that, just this once, she can bend the rules just a little bit. 

And lends a helping hand. 

Soon enough, the sky is erupting into showers of gold and pink and red. Hearts explode in bursts of light and color. And Harley laughs, launching herself into Diana’s arms and letting herself be caught with easy trust that melts what little is left of Diana’s defenses to nothing. 

She laughs into Harley’s hair, now flying loose in the wind as she lost her hat somewhere in the frenzy. Then, Diana puts her down, and pins her up against the wall of the Monument. 

“Be my Valentine?” Harley asks with a crooked, charmingly impish smile as the light of the fireworks above glitters in her eyes. 

Diana returns her smile with a smirk of her own, and catches her in the Perfect, letting it wrap nice and tight all over Harley’s body. 

“I think that can be arranged,” she whispers. 

And kisses Harley again.


End file.
